Christmas Plight
by FranklyMyDear89
Summary: Harry didn't have time to be confused about what happened. One moment, he was staring at Malfoy's frustrated, flustered face, and the next he was practically on top of it. - A holiday oneshot with exploding bags and charmed mistletoe. Merry Christmas!


A/N: So I was putting up Christmas decorations today and feeling festive, and thought I would repost this for the holiday season. For all of you returning, I hope you like it as much the second time around, and for all the new comers, I hope you enjoy this little splash of cuteness and find some enchanted mistletoe of your own ;)

(/)

Draco Malfoy was running late. As far as he knew, he was the only student _not_ in class on that particular December morning, but while anyone else would have panicked and ran, he stayed at a brisk pace, not deigning to sweat for the sake of a few saved seconds. At this point he'd either talk his way out of detention, or he wouldn't. And he most certainly would, because he was, after all, Draco Malfoy, and that's what Malfoys did.

He had just rounded the last corner, the classroom now in sight. He checked his watch, only about four minutes late. Not bad for having to deal with his bag exploding from a misfired hex outside the Great Hall. He sighed, slowing his gait and exuding an aura of calm – that is, until his left foot refused to leave the stone floor. It would have taken a good amount of torture to get Draco to admit that it had caught him off guard, but the fact that he sprawled to the ground was proof enough.

Cursing, he dragged his thoroughly abused bag back to his body, and shoved himself upright again. He took a moment to straighten his clothing – of course that was his first priority – before attempting to release his foot from whatever was holding it there. After a few attempts he realized that taking his shoe off was not only not a solution, but also not an option. He shot a few experimental counter-curses at it, but they simply bounced off. Finally his frustration got the better of him and he tried yanking on it, which only served to throw him off balance again and he nearly ended up on the floor once more. Instead, he stepped back with his free leg, it too getting stuck in the bothersome spell. Draco opted for cursing in foreign languages this time.

Mid curse, there was a tiny pop and then the soft jingle of bells. The blood drained from Draco's face as he watched miniature enchanted Santas begin to dance around his head. Surely this was a concussion-induced hallucination. The tiny Santas then did something that made him cringe. They started singing.

_We have a surprise for you to claim,_

_That in your rush you would have missed,_

_So by our magic you will remain,_

'_Til under mistletoe you're kissed. _

_When a suitor enters sight,_

_Beside you they will come to stand,_

_And share with you your Christmas plight,_

_Until they do as Santa's planned. _

As the tune died and the Santas faded, Draco looked up and fought the need to scream. Today was, most certainly, not his day.

( / )

Harry Potter huffed, shouldering his bag with steadily decreasing enthusiasm. It was only his second class of the day, but History of Magic tended to drain the life out of him, which was why he hated Wednesdays. The only thing that made it worth getting out of bed at all was the fact that Wednesdays were the one day a week he miraculously never ran into Malfoy. Somehow their schedules kept them from even bumping – usually purposely – into each other on the stairs or in the hallways. So as awful as they were, Wednesdays were blissfully Malfoy-free, and therefore not completely hell. To this end, Harry soldiered on, somehow remaining awake enough to stay out of trouble and scribble down just enough gibberish to confuse himself come OWLs.

In all actuality, Harry probably wouldn't have noticed the blonde standing resolutely in the middle of the hallway, if it weren't for the amount of whispering floating above the other students as they flowed around him. Harry had a keen ear for whispering, being the subject of most of it during his time at Hogwarts, so to hear Malfoy's name instead of his own was something that caught his attention.

Stopping a few feet away, Harry took a moment to study his nemesis. Malfoy probably would have looked stern, maybe even aggressive, but with his eyes clamped shut, he looked closer to constipated. Either way, though, it seemed to have the effect the bloke was going for, since no one was approaching him. Except Harry, of course. Obviously Malfoy wanted to be left alone, so just as obviously, Harry had to approach him. There really was no other option. Biting back a laugh at how stupid his rival looked, Harry cleared his throat. "Malfoy?"

Draco, who had been standing with his eyes closed for nearly an hour now, ground his teeth at the sound of Potter's voice. Of course. The one person he couldn't ignore, the one person he had to open his eyes to, if only to see the hex being cast at him, would be the one to address him in this predicament. He told himself not to do it, to go against his instinct and remain vulnerable, but as Potter repeated his name, his immediate sense of self-preservation kicked in and his unwillingly eyes flashed up to meet the Boy Wonder.

Harry didn't have time to be confused about what happened next. One moment, he was staring at Malfoy's frustrated, flustered face, and the next he was practically on top of it. The sudden pull of magic, coupled with the sudden stop and intimate closeness of his enemy led very quickly to a series of curses as his arms flailed and his backside connected with the floor. "Merlin's beard, what the hell did you do?" he exclaimed, trying to ignore the muffled laughter surrounding them.

Draco stifled a groan, opting instead for an exasperated sigh. "You are unbelievably stupid," was all he offered as he crossed his arms. Well, he thought, at least he didn't have to keep his eyes shut any longer.

Harry was about to respond with a cutting remark, perhaps just a second too late, but he was distracted by a soft pop and what sounded a little like a music box. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Malfoy looked more than a little panicked, and as tiny dancing Santas started singing, he understood why. Flinching as the meaning of the song filtered through his already cringing mind – those guys were seriously annoying – he chanced a glance at the ceiling, and sure enough, right above them was an innocent looking bit of greenery with a red ribbon securing it in place. He glanced in horror between the mistletoe and Malfoy – who didn't look amused in the least about the situation – a few times before he found his voice and a very un-Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World type thing to say. "You're shitting me, right?"

( / )

Drawn out of her classroom by two very familiar voices screaming at each other, Professor McGonagall surveyed the scene before her, astounded by what she saw. Normally when the two fought, they stood back from each other, wands drawn as though the shouting match was about to turn into a full fledged dual. This time, however, the two were right on top of each other, each with a fist around the other's tie, their other arms outstretched, as though to balance themselves. "What is the meaning of this?" she called, her shrill voice carrying over the general din of the fight and the surrounding crowd as she approached.

Both boys turned to her at the same time, fists tightening. "Ask him!" they both yelled simultaneously.

Taking a calming breath, she turned to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, if you would kindly let go of Mr. Potter and step back. You too Mr. Potter." Honestly, after all these years, one would think they'd gotten this out of their systems.

Grudgingly they let go of each other and fell silent, both coloring slightly when their feet continued to force them to remain so close together. Harry cleared his throat, looking down at Draco's chest as he spoke. "We can't move our feet, Professor. There's a spell keeping us under the m-mistletoe."

McGonagall looked up, and indeed they were standing beneath the famous plant. She blinked a few times, taking a moment to wrap her mind around the implications. "Well, then…" she trailed off, not sure of how to respond. No wonder they looked like they were about to kill each other.

"Could you break it, Professor?" Harry asked hopefully while Draco silently berated himself for not thinking of that sooner.

McGonagall debated within herself. It most likely wasn't a very difficult spell to break, simple as it was in principle. "Surely you or Mr. Malfoy are capable of breaking it yourselves without murdering the other. As fifth years, I'm confident you have the training and talent. Besides," she added, before turning and beginning to usher students back to class, "it would be against the spirit of the holiday for two young people to not uphold the tradition this spell is demanding." Harry groaned. He had no idea how to break a spell like this without giving into its demands, and if Malfoy was still standing here, then neither did he. So her speech pretty much boiled down to one thing: they had to nut up or shut up.

Malfoy stared after her in disbelief, feeling abandoned as the hall emptied. Swallowing thickly, he eyed Potter with extreme distrust when he noted the look of resignation on his enemy's face. "This is a nightmare," he whispered, mostly to himself.

Harry answered him anyway with a heavy sigh. "You're telling me."

( / )

The rest of the day was spent in relative silence, interrupted only by shouted threats to laughing passersby and the occasional growling stomachs. Ron had stopped by once, but upon hearing the explanation of their predicament, he laughed so hard, both Draco _and_ Harry pulled their wands on him. Subsequently, he spent the rest of the day in the Hospital Wing getting the fungus removed from his face.

The sun set and still they stood, Draco grumbling about having missed every single one of his classes and that he should have just gone back to bed after his bag exploded. Harry stifled a giggle at the admission, recognizing the practical joke for what it was. Malfoy may have thought it was an accident, but it was most likely a Gryffindor, specifically a Weasley, seeking some sort of revenge. For the sake of not getting his face pummeled or endangering the lives of his friends, however, he kept the information to himself.

"This is ridiculous," Draco finally said when eleven rolled around and they were getting dangerously close to curfew. Filch was the last audience he wanted for this humiliation. He wouldn't even put it past the old fart to sit there all night, hoping to watch. "I'm not spending the night out here with you. Hurry up and get it over with."

Harry blanched. "Me? You're the one that got us into this mess, you be the one to do it."

"The song specifically said that we're stuck here until _I_ get kissed," Draco insisted.

A few moments passed as Harry tried to find a better argument, but he came up empty. He jabbed his index finger in Malfoy's face, adding seriousness behind his next words. "Spell and mistletoe aside, I would never consent to this."

"As though I would have thought otherwise," the Slytherin dead panned, taking hold of Potter's sleeve above the elbow.

"On three then?" Harry asked, suddenly nervous. Why nervous and not disgusted, he wasn't sure.

Malfoy rolled his eyes dramatically and took a deep breath. "One."

"Two," Harry followed quickly, already leaning in as Draco breathed out a quiet 'three,' and deciding at the last moment that he may as well prove to Malfoy that he knew how to kiss a person under the mistletoe. Besides, for all they knew, a quick peck wouldn't break the stupid spell and they'd have to go at it again.

Draco gasped at the lightning that shot down his back when Harry's lips met his. He immediately tightened his grip on the sleeve and automatically grabbed the other's waist, pulling him closer. Harry returned with ardor, weaving a hand through his hair and stepping forward until he had the blonde against a wall and his tongue down his throat. Both groaned as the feeling returned to their legs, having finally been able to move them, and Harry stepped back to rub a tingling calf. "Merlin, that feels good," he said on another groan, unaware that Draco was staring at him from his position against the stone corridor.

"Then don't bloody stop," he whispered before he could stop himself. Harry's eyes shot up, for once following the subject change, and it was almost like the spell was on them again because he straightened and pressed against Draco without needing to think about it.

"You sure?" he asked, searching Draco's face for confirmation.

"I can think of much better uses for that mouth of yours than idle chatter," Malfoy said brusquely, not bothering to elaborate on more than that.

Harry hesitated, placing his hands on the wall behind his… his what exactly? Enemy, still? He bit his lip. "Draco?" he tried, knowing there were a million implied questions in just that one name.

Malfoy's expression softened, finally revealing the nervousness he now replaced with relief. "Harry," he breathed, making the plea evident in his needy tone.

And with that Harry grinned and pressed his lips once more to Draco's. _His_ Draco, if only for tonight.

( / )

Down the hallway, hidden in an alcove just out of hearing range, the group of Gryffindors watched on with mixed reactions of triumph and horror. "Dammit," cursed Ron, slumping against the wall behind him, still scratching at his blotchy face. "I was so sure they'd hit each other."

Hermione grinned. "I do believe that makes me a winner," she said holding out her hand to Fred, who smiled back as he handed over her share of the pot. He didn't mind that she'd bet the two would take all day before finally working up the courage since he and George had bet that the two would like it, meaning they claimed the other two thirds of the money. Besides, just seeing their latest prank have a successful debut was well worth all of it. Now they just had to find more victims to test it on.

The other Gryffindors present began to trickle back to the common room, accepting their losses. Fred and George shared a look that radiated _mischief managed_ before they too joined the last of their comrades in their retreat. They were sure the two boys at the other end of the corridor would be needing their privacy.

( / )


End file.
